


Crimson splatters

by killerweasel



Series: Crimson Splatters [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When someone's hurt, a doctor's job is to fix them, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson splatters

Title: Crimson splatters  
Fandom: _Sherlock_  
Characters: John Watson, Jim Moriarty  
Word Count: 1,728  
Rating: PG-13  
A/N: AU after _The Hounds of Baskerville_  
Warnings: mentions of torture  
Summary: When someone's hurt, a doctor's job is to fix them, right?

 

_There is someone in need of a doctor in your flat. MH_

**Who needs help? It can’t be Sherlock. He’s out of town on a case. JW**

**Mycroft? JW**

It had already been a long day and getting cryptic messages from Mycroft didn’t help. John slipped inside of the flat, making comments under his breath about how annoying a Holmes could be. He called out a couple of times, but got no response. Whoever was hurt was either incapable of answering or was unconscious. John was hoping for the latter. He turned the lights on and froze.

Out of all the people John expected to find slumped unconscious in his flat like a dead bumble bee, Jim Moriarty wasn’t one of them. The man was naked from the waist up and had been left on the floor like a bag of rubbish. He was wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants. Moriarty looked like someone had beaten the hell out of him. There was no doubt in John’s mind that Mycroft’s people had done this.

John stared at the bruises, some of them much older than others, which decorated Moriarty’s pale skin like a patchwork quilt. He could make out individual boot prints along the man’s side. There were marks from fists, two different belts, and what seemed to be the handle of an umbrella. There were also gashes in Moriarty’s flesh. While most of them weren’t deep enough to need stitches, there was one on the man’s shoulder that looked deeper than the rest. When John got a look at the fingers of Moriarty’s left hand, a wave of horror went through him. Two of them were missing their nails.

John sucked in a breath when he realized Moriarty had woken up. Or maybe he’d been awake the whole time, waiting to see how John would react to finding him in the flat. Even though he had to be in a considerable amount of pain, Moriarty was silent. He was staring at John the same way Sherlock tended to look at a corpse at a crime scene. Moriarty gave him a small smile when their eyes met.

“Do you like what you see, Johnny Boy?”

He hadn’t heard Moriarty’s voice since the night at the pool. It didn’t seem quite as disturbing now. “No, I don’t.” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been tortured for quite some time and then dumped in my flat. You’re also bleeding on my floor.” John held his hand out. “You need to take a shower and then I’ll deal with the worst of the wounds. I can give you something for the pain if you’d like.”

Moriarty blinked at him a few times. John could tell he’d actually managed to surprise the other man. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re a sick and twisted psychopath. But I am not going to just sit by when someone, even someone like you, is in need of medical attention.”

There was amusement on the madman’s face as Moriarty grabbed John’s wrist. When he got to his feet, he wobbled back and forth until John steadied him. Moriarty ended up putting an arm around John’s shoulder and leaning on him as they slowly made their way through the flat towards the loo.

John stood against the wall, looking away from the shower while Moriarty got cleaned up. He didn’t want to leave the room in case the man fell and hit his head or something. While he waited, he tried to figure out why Moriarty had been brought to 221B rather than dumped somewhere. For that matter, why was he alive if Mycroft and his people had held him for weeks? Either Mycroft had decided Moriarty wasn’t a threat (considering what Moriarty had done, not just to Sherlock and John, but to innocent people, that couldn’t possibly be it) or he’d managed to get whatever information he wanted out of the man (he didn’t really think that was it either). Maybe he’d thought John would finish the man off and that way Mycroft didn’t have to get his hands dirty.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he heard the water turn off. Moriarty muttered something under his breath as he grabbed a towel. “You can use Sherlock’s dressing gown if you want. I doubt he’d mind.” Knowing Sherlock, he might even be pleased by it. “Go to his room, I’ll be in with medical supplies in a couple of minutes.” He didn’t tell Moriarty where Sherlock’s room was because he had the feeling the other man already knew the location. He seemed rather familiar with the layout of the flat, which made John a bit uneasy.

When John came into Sherlock’s room, he found Moriarty sitting on the edge of Sherlock’s bed. The dressing gown was slipped off his shoulders, pooling down by his waist. Moriarty’s eyes were closed and he had his hands steepled under his chin. It reminded John very much of Sherlock when he went to his mind palace. He supposed Moriarty had something similar. John cleared his throat as he started to set the medical supplies on the bed next to Moriarty. Moriarty opened his eyes. “As much as I would love something for the pain, Doctor, I need to be able to think clearly.”

John hadn’t really expected him to want something. Sherlock always refused, saying it interfered with his thought process. “I’ll use a local anesthetic when I need to stitch something. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” Moriarty shook his head. “I’ll deal with your shoulder first and then your fingers.”

“They weren’t supposed to do that.” Moriarty twisted his left hand so he could get a better look at his fingers. He stared at the places where his nails used to be.

“Excuse me?”

“The fingernails. They weren’t supposed to do that.” He flexed his fingers and winced. “It wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“Wait a second. Are you telling me you made some sort of an agreement with Mycroft about how he was going to torture you?” John rubbed his temple, trying to will away the headache he could feel forming there.

“Of course.” Moriarty shifted, giving John better access to his wounded shoulder. “Did you think I’d allow them to capture me if I didn’t have a plan?” He sighed. “We’d agreed that nothing they did would be permanent- no broken bones, nothing removed, no teeth knocked out... I assumed fingernails would be covered by that.”

“Fingernails grow back, which makes it not permanent.” John slipped a pair of gloves on before numbing the injury. He cleaned the wound and then carefully began stitching it closed. “I’m curious. If you agreed to let them hurt you, what were you getting in return?”

Moriarty was silent for so long John wasn’t sure he would actually get an answer. John added the final stitches, cut the thread, and sat back, checking over his work. Moriarty would more than likely end up with a scar, but at least now it would be a great deal smaller.

“Information.” Moriarty held his damaged hand out to John. “I was getting information. And yes, it was worth what I went through.” He hissed between his teeth as John very carefully examined each finger, making sure they weren’t broken. “They will grow back, correct?”

John wondered what kind of information would be worth this. He decided it was better not to ask because he didn’t really want to know the answer. “It takes some time. A patient of mine took six months to re-grow one of hers. They might not grow back as nicely as they looked before. I’ll bandage these. You’re going to need to change the bandages daily and keep your fingers dry to avoid getting an infection. If they start to hurt more than they do now, get them checked.”

The majority of Moriarty’s injuries would heal by themselves. He was going to be incredibly sore for at least a week until some of the bruises started to fade. He held still as John checked his body over, occasionally muttering or hissing something when John came into contact with a particular sore spot. The bruises on his face were the oldest and had already taken on a sickly green hue. John glanced at Moriarty’s legs, which were mostly covered by the dressing gown.

“They kept everything above the waist. There’s no damage beyond what you can see.” Moriarty sighed. “They did ruin a perfectly good suit though; shredded it in front of me while one of them kicked me in the ribs.”

“I’ll grab you something to put on.” Sherlock might have a massive wardrobe, but John didn’t think he’d appreciate any of his things walking off with Moriarty. Besides, Moriarty was closer to John’s size. “Are you going to need a cab or do you have minions to pick you up?”

“A minion will do nicely.” Moriarty stretched until John heard his back pop. “If you’ll just let me use your mobile, I’ll give one a call.”

John chuckled. “I don’t think so. I’ll call when I get back with your clothes.” Sherlock could memorize someone’s entire address book and John was willing to bet Moriarty could do the same. He made his way to his room and grabbed clothing he could afford to lose. On his way back through the flat, he put the kettle on to boil.

Moriarty hadn’t moved while John was gone. That didn’t mean he hadn’t mentally cataloged everything in Sherlock’s room. John tossed the clothing on the bed before he pulled his mobile out of his pocket. “What’s the number?” Moriarty rattled off a number with a smile on his face. Someone picked up on the other end. “Your boss is at 221B Baker Street. Send someone to get him.”

“It’ll be at least twenty minutes before someone gets here.” Moriarty wrinkled his nose at John’s choice of clothing. He tugged the t-shirt over his head. “I don’t suppose you have something I could eat? I didn’t exactly get fed on a regular basis while I was there and I’m famished.”

“I’ll throw something together. Tea will be ready in a few minutes.” John started to leave the room and paused. “This changes nothing between us. Do you understand?” He walked away before he heard the answer.


End file.
